


The Halloumi Paradox

by cyankelpie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's love language is nagging, Banter, Cheese, Crowley's love language is giving gifts, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Meeting one's past self, Other, Please don't think too hard about this, Time Travel, lots of bickering, old married couple vibes, time paradox
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyankelpie/pseuds/cyankelpie
Summary: (After the Notapocalypse, Crowley discovers that, in addition to stopping time, he can travel through it. He uses this power to bring Aziraphale gifts from past ages in history, and almost avoids meddling with the timeline in the process.)“I don’t like it,” Aziraphale said when Crowley was done explaining. “In those stories you like so much, hardly anything good ever comes of—What are you drinking?”Crowley slurped from a cup he hadn’t been holding a minute ago. “Fermented date-palm cocktail. Like they used to make in Gomorrah. Want a sip?”He held out the glass. Aziraphale regarded it with suspicion, took it from him gingerly, and took a cautious sip. Then he began to see things from Crowley’s perspective.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 122
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	The Halloumi Paradox

**Author's Note:**

> The title can be interpreted as a play on the [Fermi paradox](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fermi_paradox), which can be stretched to encompass "if time travel is possible why haven't we met any time travellers." The answer here is that, for Plot Reasons, I didn't want to mess up the timeline. Like the tag says, don't think too hard about it. Part of this is inspired by [this tumblr post](https://copperbadge.tumblr.com/post/622835427432366080/forsomeonessake-have-we-as-a-fandom-decided-what).
> 
> This whole thing is extremely silly, and I hope you enjoy it :)

“See, it’d make sense.” Crowley said, brandishing an empty wine glass and pacing the bookshop rug with wobbly steps. “If I could stop—Whoop—” He tripped, but fortunately the sofa was right there to catch him.

So was Aziraphale, although he didn’t so much catch Crowley as bump him with one hand on the way down. Crowley’s elbow flew dangerously close to his face. Luckily, his wine glass was empty, of Aziraphale would have gotten a faceful of Riesling. “Care—careful, my dear,” he said, patting somewhere in the vicinity of Crowley’s arm.

“I stopped time at the airbase, di’n’t I?” said Crowley, settling into the demon-shaped imprint he’d spent decades molding into the sofa.

Aziraphale’s brow crinkled in thought. “Hmm. Oh, that’s right, you did,” he said, as if he had just remembered. “But tha’s different.”

“S’not that different, I think. Just got to _move._ ” Crowley moved one hand back and forth to illustrate. “Y’know. Through the…time.”

“Sounds diffic—diff—hard,” Aziraphale said, sipping his wine doubtfully. “An’ you’re the one with all those siffy films—”

Crowley frowned. “Siffy?”

“—talking ‘bout how s’dangerous.” He nodded wisely. “Paradocox. No, I mean—you know what I mean.”

“Siffy.” Crowley groaned and smacked himself in the forehead. “ _Sci fi._ Christ, angel. _Sci_ ence _fi_ ction.”

“Fiction isn’t pronounced that way.”

“It’s not pronouns…pronounced _fee,_ either.” Crowley shot the angel a pleading look and whined, “Why d’you do this to me, hm? Why’re you like this?”

Aziraphale was trying very hard not to look smug, and doing a terrible job. “You knew I was like this.” He leaned over unsteadily to give Crowley’s wedding ring a triumphant poke. “You didn’t have to marry me.”

“Yeah, I did.”

Aziraphale lost his balance and ended up leaning heavily into Crowley’s shoulder, not that either of them were complaining. “Didn’t _have_ to.”

Crowley shifted so he could support Aziraphale a little better. “You asked so nicely, though. Tricked me, s’what you did. Bastard.”

“I love you too, Crowley.” Aziraphale looked around. “Where’d my glass…? Oh, nevermind.” He pulled away from just long enough to pick up the wine bottle, and drank straight from it as he settled back against Crowley.

“Gimme some of that.” Crowley flapped his hand at Aziraphale until the angel handed him the wine. He took a swig, remembered that he had a perfectly good glass sitting on the coffee table, and then shrugged and drank some more. “Time travel,” he remembered, slapping the arm of the sofa and accidentally jolting Aziraphale off of him. “Bloody—You almost distracted me. Ha, nice try.”

“Can’t you leave time travel alone,” Aziraphale sighed, taking the wine bottle before Crowley accidentally flung it across the room while gesticulating. “Leave it to captain Clark—”

“Kirk.”

“—And Mr. Spork, and the others. ‘Member that film you made me watch, the—”

“It’s _sci fi_.”

“—one with the vintage car, and the young fellow in the life preserver?”

Crowley let a puff of air through his lips. “Good movie. Classic. I wanna try it, like in the movies.”

“Nnnno, my dear, listen. You remember how catawampus the timeline was, after—”

“I’m gonna try it.” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and sobered up, because some part of him still knew the importance of time traveling responsibly.

Aziraphale gave a disgruntled whine. “Don’t, my dear.”

“I’ll be back in no time.” With his eyes still shut, Crowley imagined himself jumping forward through time. He pictured a lot of clocks moving forward very fast, and that weird displaced feeling you get when daylight savings catches you unawares. Nothing happened. Crowley imagined Aziraphale threatening to never speak to him again if he couldn’t manage to do move forward at least a few minutes.

“Nonono, Crowley,” the real Aziraphale pleaded. “Don’t make me sober up for this—”

The angel broke off very suddenly. Crowley opened his eyes.

He was still in the bookshop. The wine bottle sat on the table in front of him, now completely full. It should have been just over half-full after he had sobered up. Had he gone backwards by accident?

From the corner of the room, Aziraphale stared at him, wide-eyed, without a trace of inebriation. He walked wonderingly to the edge of the sofa. “Crowley?”

Crowley looked around for a clock. It certainly seemed to have worked, but when had he ended up? He found the clock, and realized it wasn’t helpful when he didn’t know what time he had left. He turned to Aziraphale. “Did—”

With divine fury, Aziraphale picked up a throw pillow from the armchair and threw it at Crowley’s head.

“Ow,” Crowley protested, throwing up his hands to protect himself. “What—”

“Five minutes,” the angel hissed, stalking around to grab another pillow to throw. Crowley managed to deflect that one with his elbow. “You stopped existing,” Aziraphale said, his voice rising, picking up a third pillow. “For. _Five._ _Minutes._ ” He punctuated each word by smacking Crowley upside the head with the pillow.

“ _Ow,_ ” Crowley reiterated, grabbing for the pillow and missing. “Would you stop with the—”

“They’re pillows, Crowley. They don’t hurt.” Aziraphale threw another one. “You just vanished in front of me. I couldn’t sense you, and I didn’t know where you’d gone, or if you were coming back—”

“I told you I would,” said Crowley. “Aren’t you at least a little impressed that I managed—”

Aziraphale grabbed him and squeezed the rest of his sentence into a thin wheeze. “It was terrifying, my dear,” he said. “Terrifying. Don’t do that again.”

As Crowley was being crushed halfway to discorporation and couldn’t get any actual sounds out, he simply patted the angel on the back and nodded.

* * *

Once Crowley knew time travel was within the realm of possibility, though, he couldn’t just _not_ experiment a little. True, he had promised Aziraphale it wouldn’t happen again, but he hadn’t specified what “it” was. He could have meant going forward through time and temporarily leaving his angel all alone, and since he had once experienced a total lack of Aziraphale in the universe, he had no desire to put Aziraphale through a similar experience again. But that wouldn’t happen if he only went backwards. There would be two Crowleys in whatever era he traveled to, for a brief time, and then he’d come back right where he left. If he got stuck somehow, he could just wait to catch up with his own time. It wouldn’t be ideal, but neither of them would have to exist in a universe without the other.

Aziraphale glared over the top of his spectacles with his lips pursed as Crowley explained this to him. “I don’t like it,” Aziraphale said when Crowley was done. “In those stories you like so much, hardly anything good ever comes of—What are you drinking?”

Crowley slurped from a cup he hadn’t been holding a minute ago. “Fermented date-palm cocktail. Like they used to make in Gomorrah. You remember.”

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you get it?”

The demon’s face stretched into a roguish grin. “Three guesses, angel. Want a sip?”

He held out the glass. Aziraphale regarded it with suspicion, took it from him gingerly, and took a cautious sip. Then he began to see things from Crowley’s perspective.

Before any trips through time, there were negotiations to be made, and ground rules to set. First, Crowley was only to travel backwards in time, no matter how badly he wanted to know what humanity was going to come up with next. He was also to return within five minutes of the time he had departed, which would be no problem at all. “It’s easier coming back,” he explained. “Like going downstream. I just think of you, and I end up right back where I came from, down to the second.”

Aziraphale’s face softened into a smile, which turned into a smirk a moment later. “Perhaps the universe wants to put you back where you belong.”

Crowley blew a raspberry, but he didn’t have a better explanation.

They also agreed to avoid any possible paradoxes or interference with the timeline. Disruptive activities such as killing Hitler or averting wars, no matter how gratifying they may be, were strictly prohibited. The last thing they wanted to was jeopardize the chain of events that had led to the aversion of Armageddon. Aziraphale managed not to say the word “ineffable” at all during this part of the conversation, for which Crowley was immensely proud of him.

And, finally, Aziraphale would not accompany Crowley on any adventures through time. He gave all sorts of reasons for this: he wasn’t the adventurous sort, he wanted to make sure Crowley had an incentive to return, he was liable to somehow backslide into even more outdated fashion if he started spending time in previous centuries. The truth, which both knew and neither voiced, was that Aziraphale didn’t trust himself to refrain from killing Hitler or averting wars, considering his history with doing good deeds against other people’s better judgement. As it was, he barely trusted Crowley to refrain from interfering, and one of them needed to maintain credibility and thereby keep the other accountable.

There was an additional, unspoken rule that Crowley would bring back treats and gifts for Aziraphale from time to time, and in return Aziraphale would raise no objections to his activities as long as Crowley followed all the aforementioned rules. After so many years, this rule was so obvious that neither of them needed to say it.

* * *

Time travel was easier than Crowley expected, once he got the hang of it. The amount of time didn’t seem to matter very much. As long as he could clearly imagine the period he was aiming for, he could jump back a week or two thousand years with roughly the same amount of effort. He always seemed to end up in whatever place he had been thinking of, which was how he discovered that he could travel through space as well. So he went back to ancient Greece to hear Plato teach and then make fun of him later with Diogenes, to the Library of Alexandria to nick a few scrolls just before it burned, to Florence during the Renaissance to see Leonardo’s paintings when they were still fresh. As promised, he didn’t interfere beyond exchanging small talk with a handful of people and occasionally asking for directions. He never stayed long, and he always wished Aziraphale was there to share it with him.

“Brought you a little something,” he’d usually say when he returned, and present Aziraphale with a rescued scroll, or a bunch of heirloom grapes, or a bottle of strong Roman wine. Once, he teased Aziraphale with hints of a special delicacy, and returned with a devilish grin and something round and red in his hand. Aziraphale was so scandalized that he shouted until he was red in the face, and once Crowley’s laughter subsided enough for him to breathe, he admitted that it was just an ordinary apple after all. Aziraphale didn’t speak with him for the rest of the day. It was still worth it.

Overall, Crowley adhered admirably to the rules they had agreed on, until a terrible argument involving a carelessly-handled Shakespeare folio. It wasn’t like he had intentionally planned to cause a paradox. The bookshop felt so inhospitable that Crowley might as well have been a customer trying to buy something, so he decided the best course of action would be to go to sixteen-something, where Aziraphale wouldn’t follow him, and get plastered in a pub with horrifying health and safety standards. He had a few hazy memories of going around London afterwards, loudly denouncing all of Shakespeare’s work, and possibly expending a few demonic miracles to aid his arguments. He came to some hours later, lying in a park, clutching a crumpled poster for a play. Crowley took one look at the poster, blanched, and snapped back into the twenty-first century like a rubber band.

Before he could dispose of the evidence, Aziraphale happened to wander through the room. He sniffed disapprovingly. “Where have you been this time? An ancient sewer, perhaps?”

“Oh, hello, angel,” Crowley said, putting on what he hoped was a winning smile and stuffing the crumpled poster between two sofa cushions. “Light of my life. You’re looking particularly radiant this morning.”

Aziraphale shut his eyes a moment as if praying for patience. “What have you done now? And what’s that paper? If that came out of one of my books—”

Crowley scooted over so he was sitting on top of the gap between the cushions. Aziraphale pushed him to the side as if he were a book on the shelf and dug the poster out.

“I’ll repair the folio,” Crowley said hurriedly. “By hand, and everything.”

Aziraphale flattened out the poster. His eyes widened in horror. “ _Crowley._ ”

Apparently, the fact that Crowley had miracled Hamlet to popularity four hundred years ago did not preemptively make up for the fact that he was the reason it needed miracling in the first place. “This is a good thing, right?” he tried to spin it. “I didn’t mess up the timeline, I facilitated it. Maybe I can’t mess up the timeline. Maybe it’s impossible.”

Aziraphale did not see it that way. He had Crowley sleeping on the sofa for three nights, even though Aziraphale didn’t sleep, so it wasn’t like he needed the bed for himself. Crowley repaired the folio which started the argument and agreed to sit through a production of _Hamlet_ and at least one other of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones. Once appeased, Aziraphale apologized for overreacting about the folio. He did not apologize for overreacting about _Hamlet_ , because his reaction had been entirely appropriate.

He also did not argue for Crowley to stop his adventures into the past, so once they were on good terms again, Crowley discretely jumped back to 1986 to watch Queen play at Wembley Stadium. He came back so emotional that he needed Aziraphale to hold him for a while so he could calm down. Aziraphale must have found it difficult to argue against time travel after that, because he didn’t say anything about it, which Crowley took as tacit permission to continue.

* * *

Crowley had Big Plans for their three-year anniversary. At least, that was what he told Aziraphale, except he couldn’t come up with anything better than saving the scrolls from Alexandria. Really should have saved that one for a special occasion, instead of a boring Tuesday. He thought about stealing some of Petronus’s famous oysters, but they’d already done oysters for their last anniversary, and Crowley didn’t want to be responsible for any oyster-related food poisoning if he accidentally left them out too long. He could find some good wine, but again, he’d already done that, and Aziraphale would want something to eat with it.

Maybe he could bring his phone back and surreptitiously record a Paganini concert as a gift for Aziraphale. He’d always liked Paganini. The sound quality would be terrible, but they could have fun arguing about where his soul had ended up in the afterlife. (Definitely hell, if you asked Crowley. Only a truly corrupted soul could write music so beautiful that it would be played for generations, and so difficult that it would torture thousands of violin students who had been cursed with normal-sized hands.)

See, that was the sort of thing Crowley should have been doing on a boring Tuesday, not saving irreplaceable scrolls from destruction. He never planned these things ahead.

“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale said once over brunch, when the impending anniversary came up in conversation. “These plans you have for next week, would they happen to pair well with wine? I thought I might pick out a bottle or three, but I could use some hints.”

Crowley tried not to look too panicky. “I’ll take care of the wine,” he said, waving a hand. “Don’t worry about it, angel.”

“But you got the wine last time. We were going to trade off, remember?”

Crowley did remember. He had hoped that Aziraphale hadn’t. “Um…white, probably,” he guessed. “I’m sure whatever you pick will be perfect.”

Aziraphale gave him that flat look that meant he didn’t believe him but wasn’t going to mention it. He ate another forkful of deviled eggs, chewed thoughtfully for several minutes, and swallowed. “You remember those fig and cheese tarts we had on Saturday?”

“I remember the fig and cheese tarts _you_ had on Saturday,” said Crowley. He mostly remembered it because of the expression Aziraphale had made, and the ensuing conversation about whether or not bleu cheese was inherently evil.

“Well, you distracted me with some drivel about dairy-related morality,” said Aziraphale, “but I meant to tell you, it made me think of that cheese they had in Lebanon, about the second or third century B.C.” He frowned. “Was it Lebanon? No, I don’t think so…”

“Old Mediterranean cheese,” said Crowley.

“Yes, I used to eat it with figs all the time. You remember that time we bumped into each other in…Cyprus, that’s where it was.”

Crowley did remember. It was the first time they had ever eaten together, even if it hadn’t been a proper meal, and they hadn’t even been sitting down. He had tried the cheese to be polite, decided the texture was weird, and let Aziraphale have the rest. The angel found some figs in the marketplace to pair with the cheese, and his face had lit up like a candle when he ate them together. “Oh, yeah. Halloumi, wasn’t it?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, halloumi came much later. This was a sheep’s milk cheese, very salty. Sometimes they fried it.”

“You’re just talking about halloumi.”

“I am _not,_ ” Aziraphale huffed. “It isn’t the same. I’m afraid this cheese has been lost to history.” He sighed. “Pity. That was some of the best cheese I’ve ever had.”

Crowley sipped his wine and concentrated on looking nonchalant. Aziraphale had plainly guessed that Crowley needed ideas for their anniversary. Crowley would have been insulted by the angel’s lack of trust if he wasn’t right on the money. If he did retrieve this Lost Cheese, it would be an admittance that he’d lied about having plans. But on the other hand, he couldn’t deny Aziraphale anything that he asked for. And if it was _the best cheese he’d ever had,_ well, what choice did Crowley have?

Crowley set down his wine glass. “Where d’you think Halloumi falls on the dairy morality scale?”

Aziraphale let out a tiny sigh of exasperation. “Not this again.”

“‘Cause it doesn’t melt. Clearly, it’s made to withstand the fires of hell.”

“I’m not going to justify this conversation with a response.”

“Although brie melts as soon as you look at it, and, well.” Crowley gestured as if it was obvious where brie belonged.

Aziraphale’s fork clacked as he indignantly set it down. “I know you aren’t disparaging brie, my dear.”

“Brie’s an obvious gluttony trap,” said Crowley. “I thought you weren’t going to engage in my dairy-morality conversation.”

Aziraphale shot him an irritated look. “I honestly don’t know why I talk to you.”

“Love you too,” Crowley shot back, grinning.

* * *

Several days later (and in another sense, several thousand years earlier), Crowley found himself in the middle of a crowded Mediterranean market, sweating through two layers and trying to remember the word for “cheese” in Cypriot Greek. He pushed his way past stalls hawking olives, spiral-shaped bread, ripe fruits, and a hundred other things that were not cheese. He thought he saw containers of it, once, but it turned out to be goat butter. And then, as he was making a second circuit of the market, he spotted the back of a head of long, curly red hair, belonging to a man-shaped being also dressed in all black. Crowley froze. “No way.”

It was obvious what had happened. When he went back in time, Crowley had focused on the day that he and Aziraphale had visited this market, and he appeared to have hit the mark a bit too closely. Now there was a past-Crowley and a past-Aziraphale wandering around in the same market. That definitely broke the time travel rules. He was lucky the other him hadn’t turned around.

The other him turned around. Crowley regretted voicing his disbelief out loud. He watched his own golden eyes blink, widen, and then narrow to suspicious slits. “Who’re you?”

Crowley turned and ran. Maybe past-him could write it off as a hallucination. He didn’t remember this interaction, so it couldn’t have been an interesting one, right?

Running away seemed to have only made past-Crowley more suspicious. “Oi, get back here!”

Both Crowleys had a lot of experience running through crowded marketplaces, but recently, the older Crowley had been spending a lot more time sprawled on the sofa than actively on his feet. He was at a disadvantage, and the younger Crowley was catching up. With a snap of Crowley’s fingers, several dozen cabbages shot out of a vegetable stand and rolled into the street for the other version of him to trip on.

Predictably, he tripped on a cabbage himself and crashed to the ground.

In an instant, the other Crowley was on top of him, and there was a knife to his throat. “Who are you?” he hissed. “You’re a demon, aren’t you? Who sent you?”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Crowley said, his eyes locked onto the knife. “My husband will kill me.”

That threw the other Crowley off. “Your _what?_ ”

While he was distracted, Crowley wrested his arm loose and knocked the knife several feet away. The other Crowley reached for his neck, but he turned into a snake and wriggled a few feet away. The other him scrambled to his feet, covered with dust, as Crowley unfolded back into his human form. The traffic of the market parted around the two of them without taking any notice. Crowley put one snakeskin-shod foot on top of the knife. “Crowley, buddy, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“S’not what I’m worried about.” The other Crowley pulled out a second knife and started circling. Crowley had forgotten about the backup knife. “And that’s not my name.”

“Wh—Oh, _Crawly_. My mistake.” Crowley grimaced. He’d get sick of the name soon enough. “Could we maybe cool it with the knives?”

Crawly ignored him. “The snake trick was cool. Didn’t know you could fake that.” He tossed the knife up, let it spin in the air, and almost caught it as it fell. He looked down at the knife in the dirt for a moment and then decided to just pretend that hadn’t happened. “Tell me how you got that corporation, or you’ll wish I’d discorporated you faster.”

“Ooh, tough guy.” Crowley tried to get the toe of his boot under the knife so he could kick it back up into his hand. All he managed to do was kick it a few feet over. “There’s nothing nefarious going on here. I’m you _,_ from two thousand years in the future.” He edged over so he could step on the knife again. “And I’m just here on a quick errand, so I’d really appreciate it if you’d leave me alone.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Crawly, sounding almost impressed.

“Exactly, so why would I make it up? Last thing I’d want to do is hurt myself. Looking great, by the way,” he added, shooting some finger guns. “I forgot how good my hair looked with those braids in it.”

“You look pretty bloody ridiculous yourself,” said Crawly. “Where the heaven are those clothes supposed to be from? Is that what head office thinks Cypriots wear?”

“Oh, you wish you looked this good,” Crowley mumbled, looking down at his dress pants and button-down shirt. They were a bit of a mess after falling on his face and getting pinned to the ground. He snapped his fingers to clean himself up. Had to look smart for his and Aziraphale’s special day.

While he’d been looking down, Crawly, bent to retrieve his knife. “I’m going to ask you one more time,” he said, settling into a fighting stance. “Where did you get that corporation?”

“It’s mine,” Crowley said, enunciating as clearly as he could. “Ours. I’ve had it since they assigned me to Earth, just like you. For the third time, I’m not gonna hurt…” He trailed off. Crawly had said it himself, that wasn’t what he was worried about. He wanted to know who had made a replica of his corporation and sent it to Earth. He was worried about the damage that a Crowley doppelganger could cause.

He really hadn’t changed, had he? Crowley let out a small sigh and took off his sunglasses. “I’m not gonna hurt Aziraphale. Alright?”

The reaction was immediate. Crawly’s eyes snapped wide. His grip on the knife tightened, and his whole body tensed. “What do you know about him?”

“About Aziraphale?” said Crowley. “What don’t I know? Angel, yea tall, blue eyes do that sparkly thing when he laughs. He gave away his flaming sword in Eden and we haven’t stopped thinking about him since.”

Blinking slowly, Crawly lowered the knife. “Gosh. You really are me.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“Then you really are from the future.” Crawly circled him curiously. “Clothes must’ve gotten worse, somehow. That’s not usually how it works.” He picked at the material of Crowley’s blazer and grimaced. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

“They’ve evolved from bedsheets, at least,” Crowley snapped, taking a step backwards. To be honest, he was starting to envy Crawly’s lighter, more breathable tunic, considering the hot sun overhead. But if he wore that, he wouldn’t get to look like this, would he?

“How are you here, though?” Crawly grinned. “Do the humans eventually figure out how to time travel? Clever bastards.”

“No, just how to imagine it,” said Crowley. “But, actually, it turns out—Wait, no, I’m not telling you how to time travel,” he caught himself, pointing accusingly at his past self. “And this—none of this—” he waved his arms expansively. “Is supposed to be happening in the first place.”

“So why’re you here? To tell me my future?”

“Fuck, no,” said Crowley. “Trust me, you don’t want me causing any more paradoxes than I already have.” How had this happened, anyway? He didn’t even remember this conversation. Had they split off into a different timeline? Would he return to his own age, and find it an apocalyptic wasteland?

“So, sometime in the future, I’m gonna cut off all my hair, get really slow and clumsy, and—” Crawly stiffened. “That—that thing you said about a husband was figurative, right?”

“I’m just here to pick up a few things,” Crowley interrupted. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen any cheese around here?”

“Cheese,” Crawly repeated flatly. “I eat cheese two thousand years in the future?”

“Uh—Yeah,” he lied. “Love the stuff. Really came around on the whole food thing.”

Unfortunately, since Crawly was him, he knew exactly when Crowley was full of shit. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice, stepping a bit closer. “Right. So, uh…you mentioned Aziraphale.”

Bugger, the angel was probably around here, too, since he was supposed to share cheese and figs with Crawly today. Definitely didn’t want to get in the way of that. “I really shouldn’t be here,” Crowley said, backing away.

Crawly grabbed his arm. “D’you guys still talk?” he asked. “Y’know, in…what’d you say? Two thousand years?”

“Can’t ever stop asking questions, can we?” Crowley twisted his hand out of Crawly’s grip. He never thought he’d see the day he’d be telling himself to ask fewer questions.

“You’re already here, anyway. What’s the harm? Just one little question. Do me and Aziraphale ever, y’know…” Crawly swallowed, turning pink. “…become friendsss?”

There might not be any harm asking one little question, but this was a big one. This was Aziraphale, the most important person in Crowley’s whole existence. He would willingly risk jeopardizing a lot of important events in human history before he’d risk their relationship. “Look, I’m as big a fan of questions as the next guy, but some things are just ineffable.”

Oh, that was too revealing of a word choice. Crawly’s eyes brightened.

“Look, I can’t even be sure things will happen the same way,” Crowley said helplessly. “I don’t remember this conversation, so the timeline must’ve diverged, and anything I tell you could change the outcome. I can tell you how things happened for me, but…”

He trailed off. His past self looked so desperate for answers, and Crowley knew exactly how he felt. He remembered what his early relationship with the angel had been like. _This one’s different. Isn’t he? Or is he? He could be. Will he?_

Sod it. Crowley had already created a paradox. Maybe he could at least save these versions of himself and Aziraphale a bit of pain. “Look, I won’t lie to you, it isn’t easy with Aziraphale,” he said. “There’s good times, but the bad times hurt. We fight. He pushes us away. He always comes back, but that doesn’t stop it hurting.”

Crawly’s face fell slowly as Crowley spoke. “So that’s how it’ll be. Should’ve known better, with an angel. I’ll save myself the trouble.”

“Don’t you dare,” Crowley growled, pointing at him. His wedding ring shone prominently in the sunlight. It was a bit early for that custom to have caught on just yet, but he stuffed his hand into the pocket of his dress pants anyway. “It’s worth it, all of it. Everything you think about him now? He’s more. And it might not feel like it, but you do help him, a lot. Just, um.” He bit his lip. “Be patient with him, alright? It’s not easy for him.”

“What’s not easy?”

How could he possibly explain Aziraphale? How could he explain what heaven’s conditioning had done to the angel, how hard it had been just for him to have one pleasant conversation with a demon, what it was like for him to be torn between two sides while his worldview unraveled beneath his feet, for millennia? After all this time, Crowley still didn’t fully understand it himself. “You’ll figure it out. Anyway, pretty sure you’re already friends.”

Crawly’s face lit up. Jesus, that kid needed a pair of sunglasses. Actually, sunglasses wouldn’t be around for another two hundred years, and neither would Jesus. “Really?”

“Yeah. He likes you, too, just won’t admit it.” Crowley sighed dramatically. “There, I answered your question. Might’ve doomed you all in the future. I hope it was worth it to you.” It would have been, to his past self. And, a little bit, to him. He wanted to stick around and find out how these versions of themselves would turn out, but he had an anniversary to get back to, and a husband to feed. He put his sunglasses back on. “Look, I did come here for a reason, and it wasn’t to impart wisdom. Would you mind pointing me towards anyone selling cheese?”

“Hm?” Crawly had been lost in his own thoughts, trying not to smile with embarrassingly little success. “Right, you did mention that. Yeah, I think there’s some on the south end of the market. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

Crawly led him through the market crowds with bouncy steps. He didn’t even steal any wine from the stand they passed that sold by the jug. Crowley couldn’t help but grin. He wished someone had told him two thousand years ago that the angel liked him back. Hopefully the knowledge would give this version of himself something to help carry him through the fights and rough patches. Hopefully he wouldn’t do anything stupid because of it.

Crawly stopped and jerked his head towards a stand where a tiny old woman was grilling slabs of something white. “There you go. Did you really take a jaunt through time just to pick up groceries?”

“Yeah, going to the store is just so tedious sometimes,” said Crowley. “Thanks, me. Keep yourself safe out there, for my sake. By the way, might want to consider a different name. _Crawl_ y’s a bit, er, not us.”

While his younger self thought about that, he stepped forward and plunked a comically large sack of gold coins down on the table to catch the cheese woman’s attention. “I’ll take the whole lot. Oh, except that one,” he said, pointing to a random cheese towards the back. He needed to leave something for his and Aziraphale’s past selves, after all.

She shot him a mistrustful glance and scowled at his odd clothes before opening the sack to examine its contents. The coins inside were horribly anachronistic, but they were also real solid gold, so Crowley doubted she’d care. She took out one of the coins, bit down on it, and grinned. Nodding to Crowley, she started gathering up all the cheeses on her little table.

“One more thing.”

Crowley jumped and turned around. He hadn’t realized his past self was still there.

“Does Aziraphale like the cheese?”

Crowley shifted his stance and nodded. “It’s his favorite.”

Crawly’s eyes went to the massive quantities of cheese the woman was wrapping up for him, seeming to understand more than Crowley told him. “Right. Well. Enjoy your cheese,” he said, his mouth quirking sarcastically.

Crowley shook his head. If his younger self was trying to embarrass him, he was going to have to try harder. Besides, which of them had married Aziraphale, again? Point to Crowley. He glanced around the marketplace to see if past-Aziraphale had shown up yet, but there was still no sign of him. Hopefully Crawly hadn’t missed him already. “By the way, you might wanna stick around this area for a bit.” He tilted his head down, looked over the top of his sunglasses, and winked. “Might find something of interest to you.”

“What’s that?” Crawly said flatly, to show that he wasn’t interested in Crowley’s cryptic future advice.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Crowley wagged a finger. “It’s ineffable, remember?” The woman handed him a bulging sack of cheese, and a smaller one which, upon inspection, held a few slices that she had already grilled. He nodded to her in thanks, turned to leave, and clapped his younger self on the shoulder as he passed. “Good luck.”

“Tosser,” he heard Crawly mutter as he walked away.

“Cheek,” Crowley said under his breath. Kids these days. No respect for their elders.

* * *

Crowley popped back into the twenty-first century, laden down with the bags of cheese as well as some fruit and bread that he had found in the marketplace. He had shut his eyes for the journey, and was a little bit afraid to open them and see what kind of Earth his accidental time-fuckery had created. With his eyes closed, it didn’t seem that different. He could still hear birds chirping, and the running water of the fountain in the lake where he and Aziraphale had set out their picnic blanket. The air smelled of freshly-mowed grass, with a little hint of wine, and another scent more welcome to him than anything else in the world.

“Good heavens,” said Aziraphale’s voice to his right. “You’ve gone a bit overboard, my dear.”

Smiling, Crowley opened his eyes, set down his purchases, and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale. “Hi, angel. S’good to be back.”

Aziraphale hugged him back gladly. “You appear to have gotten a bit of sun, wherever you went,” he said, when they had both let go.

Crowley discretely miracled away any sweat that had soaked into his clothes. “Yeah, the Mediterranean’s a bit warmer than I remember.” He opened the sack of cheese first. “Got you a little something.”

Aziraphale gasped and actually clapped his hands in such delight that he almost convinced Crowley that he hadn’t intentionally given him the idea for the cheese in the first place. “Ooh, wonderful! I’ve so missed this cheese. Let me see—” He picked up one of the grilled slices and sniffed it in rapturous delight. “Oh, Crowley, this is perfect.”

Crowley soaked up the praise. “That’s just the start. I thought you could use something to pair it with…” He started unloading the fruits he’d brought. There were figs, of course, since Aziraphale had mentioned them, but also dates, some apricots, and a pomegranate.

“Did you bring this just for the underworldly associations?” Aziraphale asked, holding up the pomegranate.”

Crowley shrugged. “Couldn’t find any apples.” Suppressing laughter, Aziraphale threw the pomegranate at Crowley, who snickered. “Careful, you’ll bruise it. After I went to such trouble to bring it back.”

“As if we can’t find pomegranates in this day and age,” Aziraphale scoffed. “This cheese, on the other hand…” He opened that sack again. “You really didn’t have to get so much, Crowley. I can hardly eat all this in one sitting.”

“I thought we’d stock up,” said Crowley, unwrapping a stack of flatbread.

Aziraphale looked puzzled. “You can always go back and get more.”

Crowley shook his head, avoiding eye contact. “Nah. That was my last trip.”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, staring at him as if he wasn’t sure whether he was serious. “Do I want to know what happened?”

“Probably not.”

Aziraphale nodded decisively, tore off part of a piece of flatbread, and stacked one of the grilled slabs of cheese on top of it. “Well then, that will make this an occasion to remember.” He closed his eyes, and took the first bite of the famed Lost Cheese, his mouth already turning up in anticipation of his enjoyment. “Mm,” he hummed in rapture at the first bite, his face practically glowing. “Mm, that’s…” The glow faded. He opened his eyes and frowned at the cheese. “Oh, wait a moment.”

Crowley raised one eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“Well, it’s—This is wonderful, Crowley, I’m not trying to criticize—Only, the cheese is halloumi.”

If they’d had a table, Crowley would have upended it and sent the entire picnic flying. He settled for tossing one of the figs into the lake instead. Several nearby ducks took flight. “I bloody told you it was halloumi!”

“Well, yes, _this_ is halloumi. I was expecting—Nevermind, it’s not important.”

“It’s always been halloumi. You told me they weren’t even making halloumi in the second century B.C.!”

Aziraphale considered. “Suppose your time-travelling was off by a few centuries. You could hardly be blamed, of course. I imagine time travel is very difficult.”

“I went back to the exact same market, and the exact same day we both ate that cheese,” Crowley said, jabbing a finger at the offending dairy product. “Don’t you dare try to tell me it’s the wrong one. How could you possibly remember the taste after two thousand years, anyway?”

“It’s still delicious, my dear. I do like halloumi,” Aziraphale said, his forgiving expression tinted with smugness. “Perhaps some things are destined to be lost to history.”

Crowley folded his arms and muttered something involving the word “obstinate.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, dearest. You’ll scare away the ducks,” Aziraphale tutted. He finished the rest of the cheese and flatbread and reached for the bottle he’d brought along. “Here, let’s open the champagne.”

Crowley continued scowling as Aziraphale popped the cork and poured two glasses for them, even though they had forgotten to bring the glasses with them. “It isn’t really about the cheese, you know,” Aziraphale said, handing him the glass. “I don’t know if you remember this, but that was the first time we shared food.”

Crowley softened a little and took the glass. “Course I remember. How do you think I managed to get there on the exact same day?”

Aziraphale beamed, his eyes twinkling, and Crowley couldn’t even be mad at him for the cheese thing anymore. He held up his glass. “Happy anniversary, dearest. This picnic is lovely, but I’d be perfectly content just to spend this time with you.”

Crowley could never stop himself from smiling when the angel said things like that. “Happy anniversary, angel,” he said, clinking glasses with him. “Love you.”

“I love you too, Crowley.”

They both sipped the champagne, which happened to have a perfect flavor profile to pair with halloumi-adjacent cheeses. The ducks, which had retreated to the other side of the lake to distance themselves from Crowley’s sour mood, started to drift back to where they had been. Dairy-related arguments aside, it was a perfect picnic.

Aziraphale choked on his champagne, his eyes suddenly wide. “Crowley, when you say you went to the same market, on the same day—I mean, surely you and I weren’t—?”

“Try the figs, angel,” Crowley interrupted loudly, holding one up. “Here, open your mouth.”

Aziraphale eyed him suspiciously, but soon found that it was difficult to argue with his mouth full of fig.

* * *

Crowley’s hypothesis about different timelines, while internally consistent and moderately well-informed, was incorrect. The space-time continuum is remarkably versatile and self-healing. Meeting one’s future self is, as Aziraphale suspected, a paradox of disastrous proportions. Luckily, the universe has certain defense mechanisms to, if not prevent such things, then at least minimize their effects. Crowley did not remember conversing with his past self, not because it hadn’t happened, but because these defense mechanisms kicked in.

So, once Crowley disappeared back into the twenty-first century, his past self blinked and looked around, wondering how he’d gotten to this part of the market. The sun was probably doing funny things to his head. It was awfully bright. They should invent some sort of eye covering to help with that.

“Crawly?”

He wasn’t so keen on that name, actually, now that he thought about it. Maybe he’d think about changing it. Could mix up the vowels to make it less stereotypically snakey. But that would have to be later, because right now he was spinning around to see Aziraphale frowning at him through the crowds of people.

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked.

“Just, uh…” He’d had been following a target for a temptation, but then he’d spaced out, and there was no telling where she’d gotten to. “Y’know, wiles, and the like.” He scooped up a bottle of wine from the nearest table without paying. “Indulging in vices. You?”

Aziraphale tutted and paid the wine merchant in miracled money, even though he would have been none the wiser of Crawly’s theft. “You shouldn’t just rob people, Crawly.”

“Have you seen their prices? That’s the real robbery.” Crawly pointed the wine bottle at him. “Didn’t answer my question. What brings you here?”

Aziraphale avoided eye contact. “Oh. Er…”

“Is it embarrassing?” Crawly said, grinning excitedly. “I’ll let you have the wine if you tell me.”

“I paid for it, so technically, it ought to be mine,” said Aziraphale. “I just wanted a snack, that’s all.”

Crawly waited for him to finish whatever was so incriminating. There didn’t seem to be any more coming. “Wait, that’s it?”

“Well, my lot don’t really approve.” Aziraphale shot a furtive glance heavenward. “Indulging in vices. Gluttony. But eating isn’t inherently gluttonous, of course,” he added defensively.

“Didn’t say it was.”

“It’s just nice. One can enjoy things without—”

Crawly looked around. “Who’re you arguing with, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh. I’m sorry, I expected…Nevermind.” With a pointed look, he added, “I believe that bottle of wine is mine now.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Crawly handed it to him. He expected the angel to make an excuse and leave, but somehow, they ended up walking in the same direction, drifting through the marketplace together. “So,” he asked, “what sorts of things does an angel snack on? Manna?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale scoffed. “Although it was rather tasty.”

“Hm. Fruit of the spirit?” Crawly asked, nodding towards a fruit stand as they passed. “Apples, maybe?”

Aziraphale shot him an annoyed look. “I do enjoy fruit. But actually, I’m more interested in the dishes that humans create. Have you seen what they’ve done with bread in Egypt?”

Crawly frowned, trying to remember. “The, ah…leadening, was it? Makes it puff up?”

“Leavening,” Aziraphale corrected. “And no, it doesn’t just make it _puff up,_ it makes it lighter, and airy—”

“And full of holes, right?” Crawly interrupted. “Figures, that an angel would like hole-y food.”

“Oh, ha-ha, hilarious. Forgive me if I find your puns a bit stale.”

Crawly snorted and glanced at Aziraphale. A self-satisfied twinkle in his eye told him that the joke had been intentional. Why was it that every time they bumped into each other, Crawly enjoyed himself more than he had in years? Now he didn’t want Aziraphale to leave. He wanted to keep wandering around the market, talking nonsense about food, and finding out which ones the angel liked.

He looked around for a new topic of conversation, and his eyes lit on a stand tucked almost out of sight between two others. It caught his attention because the table was empty, save for a lone white cheese. If it had nearly sold out, it had to be good. And some gut feeling told Crawly that Aziraphale would like it. He nudged Aziraphale and nodded towards the stand. “How about cheese?”

Aziraphale followed his gaze. “Some cheese does sound scrumptious right now, in fact. Have you tried it?”

“A few,” said Crawly. “Not that kind, I don’t think.”

“She’s down to her last one,” Aziraphale realized with a small gasp. “We had better hurry. Here, hold the wine.” He pushed the bottle into Crawly’s hands. And, just like that, Aziraphale was hurrying forwards to buy cheese for the both of them.

Crawly blinked. He and Aziraphale had shared plenty of conversations, and, on two occasions, wine, but never food. Enemies didn’t break bread together. Or cheese. He and Aziraphale had never really acted like enemies, but what else could they be? Acquaintances? Friends?

Friends ate together, usually. Were they friends?

“Here we are,” said Aziraphale, hurrying back with several bundles. “Polyna over there was kind enough to slice and grill a bit of it for us, and on her recommendation, I got some figs to eat with it at that stand just beside hers. Could you hold these? My hands are a bit full.”

Slightly dazed from the revelation that had just come to him, Crawly accepted a small bag of figs in his free hand. He and Aziraphale were friends. Maybe they had been for a long time. He wasn’t entirely sure how, but he was so uncharacteristically certain of it that it shook him.

“Okay, that’s better. Here, take this.” Aziraphale held out a piece of grilled cheese to Crawly. “Eat it with one of the figs. Actually, could you hand me one?”

“Hm? Sure.” Crawly dug in the sack for a fig and swapped with Aziraphale. With his hands full, he couldn’t figure out how to get another fig for himself. “Aziraphale, could you—”

Just as he looked up, Aziraphale popped the fig into his mouth. He smiled, but when he took a bite of cheese to go with it, he beamed. Whatever he tasted in the cheese, it shone out of him. It was like watching a lamp come to light. “Oh,” Crawly said very quietly.

“Mmm.” Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open, still smiling with the aftermath of the transcendent experience of eating cheese with figs. “Did you say something, Crawly?”

“Nuh. I just.” Crawly swallowed. It was stupid of him to wish there had been more cheese for sale. He nibbled a corner of the cheese to have an excuse not to speak, but he seemed to be immune to whatever sorcery had captivated Aziraphale. It was just cheese. It squeaked between his teeth, and he wasn’t sure cheese was supposed to do that.

“You’re supposed to eat it with the figs,” Aziraphale reminded him.

“Figs! Right, I was gonna—Could you help, uh, my hands are full.”

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry, I should have realized…”

They traded around until Crawly had a fig along with the slab of cheese. He took a small bite of each, but it still didn’t do much for him. Yep, that was a fig, and the cheese was still cheese. “Pretty good,” he said, and took another bite to humor the angel. “So, anyway, about this leaden bread…”

“ _Leavened_. It’s really something. You know they use tiny organisms to make it rise?”

“No kidding?”

“Yes, although I’m not sure if they fully understand it…”

The thing was, now that they had bought the food, they couldn’t just split up and go their separate ways. Crawly much preferred to stay here, wandering through the market and accomplishing nothing, chatting and laughing with and getting annoyed at this angel who had given away his flaming sword. Damn it, he liked Aziraphale. And Aziraphale seemed to like him well enough at least to offer him cheese and put up with him for a while. So they both stayed, and they talked, and they shared food the way friends did.

Crawly had a feeling he was going to remember this day for a long time.


End file.
